


Allies in Alleys

by Amythe3lder



Series: Irregular Pieces [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Prompt Fill, under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt: Shoe</strong><br/>He decided there was no way he could leave him here alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allies in Alleys

**Author's Note:**

> This happens years prior to ASiP, and before Sherlock gets clean. There's misuse of drugs, alcohol, and language in this, though no more than in the show itself. I don't think. Take care!
> 
> Take me wandering through these streets  
> Where bright lights and angels meet  
> Stone to stone they take me on  
> I'm walking 'til the break of dawn  
> "New Shoes"-Paolo Nutini

“What the fiddlin’ fuck are you doing here?” Greg Lestrade slurred, startled. He’d ducked into this alley in a drunken bid to relieve his bladder, and now he found himself blinking as a pile of rags resolved itself into Sherlock Holmes.

“Hiding,” was the short reply, and Greg had to admit that he’d been doing a pretty decent job of it. The young man continued, “There’s a shop across the street; they’ll let you use their toilet if you tell them you’re an Manchester United fan.”

“How do you know?” he prompted, “Didn’t think you followed football.”

Sherlock shot him a look that forgot to be withering halfway through, and Greg mentally put another tick in the column of _probably high_. “Red and yellow café curtains like those are practically regulation.”

Greg shook his head to clear away some of the alcohol haze. Surprisingly, it helped. “I back Arsenal, though.”

“Any port in a storm,” the junkie mumbled, and his eyes slid shut. Greg spared a moment to wonder how many storms Sherlock had weathered, and how many more he could withstand.

He decided there was no way he could leave him here alone. Once he'd concluded his business, he scrubbed his face, sobered up as best he could, and jogged back to the alley to collect his charge. “Right, then. You’re coming with me." He urged Sherlock to his feet and they started down the road.

"My shoes don't work," his companion complained.

Greg glanced down. "Maybe because you've only got one."

Sherlock watched his own steps over the sidewalk. "Oh. They took my shoe. Why did they..?" he trailed off, confused and dispirited. "Well, that would explain it."

"They do work better as a pair."

" _I_ don’t," Sherlock declared in a fierce breath. He still allowed Greg to tuck himself under his arm and support him to keep his bare foot from taking too much weight. _Yeah, you do. Or you would._

By the time the sleek sedan pulled over to admit them, the younger Holmes was even willing enough to accept his brother’s help.

And that was a painful sort of relief. Because now he was stuck in the back of a car with a two angry Holmes men, and the only consolation- if it was- was that they both had a bit of a blind spot where he was concerned. Sherlock had yet to deduce that Greg was occasionally shagging his brother, and Mycroft seemed all unaware of how many strings were attached and how much it was beginning to mean to him. He had to prevent either from learning the truth or he’d never hear the end of it; or rather, he’d hear the end of it very quickly. This bag was too small to keep two cats in, and this ride was far too posh for him to feel so uncomfortable.

To make matters more unstable, Sherlock was coming down. He peered over at him. "She's left you again," he said.

Greg set his jaw. "I'm the one in a hotel."

Mycroft’s voice was mild and frustratingly steady when he spoke, "Your wife's ongoing residence in your shared flat doesn't mean she stayed. She left you first."

"Well, now I'm leaving this conversation."

Mycroft was nothing if not obliging. That was part of the problem.

When the car slid to a stop a few seconds later, Greg pointed at the older brother and said, "You don’t get to talk about Anna. And _you_ ," he said, rounding on Sherlock, "you're bloody clever and if you could just get clean, I might be able to justify giving you proper work. Hell, I'd be glad of it." He looked back at Mycroft as he turned to close the door. For an instant, there was something like gratitude and admiration and another thing entirely swirling together in blue and grey. Before he blinked it away, Greg could have sworn he saw regret in Mycroft’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
